


On The Ocean of Life

by Alex -Protecc bottoms- simpDenki (Hallettatme)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Broken marriage, Cunnilingus, F/M, Falling Out of Love, Growing Apart, Make up sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Yagami Yato, and the ending is happy/smutty, but the middle is fluffy, falling back in love, i wrote some real ass shit, listen, making it work, no beta we die like men, no marriage is perfect, rekindling the romance, taking some space, this tag list is garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallettatme/pseuds/Alex%20-Protecc%20bottoms-%20simpDenki
Summary: How many years have you and Tobio been married now? 5? 7? Sometimes you aren’t sure if it's really that low or if you have been together, stuck in time, for about 100 years, and the two of you will be just missing one another for all time.There is a saying about two ships passing in the night,: something about a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness. With your hectic schedules, this seems to be what the two of you have become.Discord Name: Alex (Protecc Bottoms) SimpDenkiFor the November Yagami Yato Collection
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 69
Collections: Yagami Yato Fanfic Event: November 2020





	On The Ocean of Life

How many years have you and Tobio been married now? 5? 7? Sometimes you aren’t sure if it's really that low or if you have been together, stuck in time, for about 100 years, and the two of you will be just missing one another for all time.

There is a saying about two ships passing in the night,: something about a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness. With your hectic schedules, this seems to be what the two of you have become.

He is so often away, playing Volleyball professionally, and you are so often out working late, meeting potential donors for the non-profit you work for, and attending fundraisers alone. You are solo at these things so often that the ring sparkling on your finger is considered a ruse by the most insistent of suitors, and you have taken to bringing one of the myriad of Tobio’s old volleyball friends with you when you can.

The two of you had discussed it over the phone months ago, and Tobio is fine with the arrangement. He trusts you; and he trusts them, so it really has been the best way to keep the men hitting on you at bay and allow you to just do your job and schmooze.

Of course, you would rather it was Tobio, but he is following his dreams, and you can’t fault him for that, can you? You would rather come home after these events, kick off the painful shoes, peel off the uncomfortable dress you have stuffed yourself into, and cuddle up on the couch with him, instead of the bowl of ice cream that is your usual partner.

Even if he is home, you get home from these things so late that he is always already asleep. He has to be up early for practice after all. It is almost like being married to an especially solid ghost. A ghost that leaves behind the smell of clean sweat, and bio-freeze on his pillow before you can even wake for the day, his side of the bed already meticulously made.

How long can this continue? How long have you been this lonely? You shake your head, trying to clear the tears that are pricking at the corners of your eyes when you think your final question: is it time to consider walking away?

Had you ever really been in love to begin with? You can’t even remember; it had all happened so fast. Meeting in college, starting dating, finding out you were pregnant weeks before graduation, and getting married as quickly as possible so the timing wouldn’t look suspect to your very traditional families.

When you lost the baby, the two of you had decided that it was for the best, as he was busy as a new recruit for the Japanese volleyball team, and you were starting your organization from scratch. You told yourselves that you would try again when things settled down, but they never did.

All these years later, and you are glad that the two of you never found the time to have a family. “That’s probably for the best,” you sigh out into the silent room as you fold another item from the closet and place it into the increasingly full suitcase in front of you.

You hadn’t planned on sneaking away while Tobio was out of town. That is just how things are working out. He was supposed to be home three days ago. You had planned to sit him down and have this conversation in person, but he had accepted a chance to sub for another player in a charity tournament that would continue into next week.

You pull the clothes from a few more hangers, beginning to pack the second case you have at the ready. You have already packed all of your cosmetic products; and the few keepsakes you plan to take with you. Your books are all in boxes, ready to go. It is just this act, removing all of your clothes and shoes from the closet, that is left for your presence to be erased from the home.

The movers are coming to grab your things in about two hours, and you want to be completely ready to go. You finish clearing the last of the hangers in the closet, taking a deep breath as you press the last bit of carefully folded fabric into your bag, and zip it closed.

You wheel the three suitcases you have filled to the front door with the rest of the boxes that are going with you. Your neatly printed handwriting across the top of each container states where they will go in your new apartment.

You meander through what is soon going to no longer be your home, hand grazing over items that hold bits of memories from the years contained within your failed marriage. Tears that you refuse to let fall line your lashes, as you head toward the kitchen, your footfalls echoing on the tiles, ringing in the empty spaces left by the items you are taking with you.

It is a week later when Kageyama comes home to find you gone, only a note taped to the refrigerator to show that you had ever even been there. He dashes through the rooms of your home in a futile hope that you will still be there, getting the last of your things, but the room is already smell stagnant with disuse. The air conditioner is not even running to help circulate the empty air.

He already knew that you were really gone, leaving no forwarding address for him to come and find you. You are too meticulous a person to have left any loose strings. There will be no reason for you to return.

He hadn’t worried when you hadn’t answered his nightly phone calls over the last week. You so often got too busy with work to have the time to answer. He should have worried.

He should have worried when Shoyo, Suga, and Asahi hadn’t heard from you. They were your three favorite fake dates for your events, the ones he always regrets being unable to attend, but you hadn’t called them to escort you in weeks apparently.

He should have turned down that volleyball tournament when he heard how tired you sounded the last time you had answered his call. He now realized that it was not just tired that you sounded, it was defeated.

He whips his phone out of his pocket and begins to frantically dial your number. Over and over and over, even though he knows that it will still go straight to voicemail, as it has every day for a week. You need space, your note had said. Well, you have all the space he can envision you needing.

He hesitates to call your mother; you probably haven’t told her anything anyway. Your employees didn’t need to know details of your life. You generally didn’t like to let go of control enough to allow them to see anything that may be giving you trouble.

He calls around to his friends, who have become very close with you in his absence, looking in on you when he has to be away for an extended time, making sure that you get out for more than just those stuffy charity parties, but none of them have heard from you.

All of them are legitimately shocked to hear that you have left him. When he finally finishes calling everyone, saving Tsukishima for last, of course, god that guy is insufferable, he sinks to the floor, his back against the dresser.

Something is digging into his ass, a perfume bottle that had escaped your purge of everything you from the premises. He holds it in his large hand for just a moment before the anger hits. He flings the bottle at the wall across from him, and it shatters in a shower of glimmering glass, and scented droplets. How could you do this to him?

However, it is impossible for him to maintain his anger as the scent he has always associated with you washes over his senses, blanketing him instead in the stark realization that this wasn’t because of one time going to a tournament instead of coming home.

His mind turns to every missed fundraiser, every birthday and anniversary done via skype or even missed entirely, every night that he had gone to bed early instead of waiting for you to get home or, better yet, showing up to the damned events to surprise you, at all…ever.

“God, I am awful.” He groans out into the suffocating silence that surrounds him, banging his head back into the dresser drawers behind him.

Even with as busy as you were, you always found the time to show up at his games that were here in town to cheer him on. No matter how loud and crowded the stands, he could always hear you shouting above the noise with a shirt declaring yourself his queen of the court, screaming yourself hoarse for your king.

He hadn’t appreciated that enough. Hadn’t shown you the same consideration.

He slides his thumb down the screen of his phone to the gallery and, scanning through the photos, he comes to the awful realization that it is full of photos of everything but you. How had he let this happen?

Tobio isn’t sure of how things ended up this way, but he is going to try to make it up to you, try to make you come home, and if he fails? He isn’t even going to consider that as an option.

In the three months since you moved out on your own, you had barely slept. Even with his near constant travel, he was back home often enough to refresh the scent on his pillow. Now everything smells like you, but you are getting better.

You have been out dancing with the girls from work a few times. It was a great time, until you ran into Tanaka and Noya. They had spent the next hour asking you all about why you left and telling you how much of a mess Tobio was without you. Needless to say, you have stopped going to that specific club.

You learned to bake, dyed your hair a tasteful but, for you, outrageous auburn, and gotten through a couple of new books. You even went on one particularly awful date with a guy you met at a fundraiser. He had seemed super sweet when he asked you to go to dinner with him, but he mostly just leered at you across the table while playing with a tongue ring you hadn’t noticed at the event between his teeth.

Needless to say, you aren’t sure that you are quite ready to try dating, yet. The divorce papers haven’t even been drawn up yet. You can’t bring yourself to go see the lawyer, to take that step that means that all those years were a big waste, a failure.

At nearly 30 years old, you can’t imagine trying to find love once more, and when you try to imagine what the guy himself might be like? Suffice it to say that your sleep has also been disturbed by Tobio’s face, popping up in dreams that range from frightening, something bad happening to him, to frankly X rated, even though you can’t remember the last time that the two of you were together and awake long enough to be…. Intimate.

Your face flushes remembering the shape of his body in the dark, strong arms curled around your shoulders, big strong hands spanning the area between your navel and upper pelvis easily. You shake your head. You can’t keep letting these thoughts invade your head, you have to let him go.

It’s another month before you are dressed to the nines in a killer deep blue gown at yet another fancy fundraiser. Things are different now. There are no large volleyball boys to play interference with the men who take a liking to you anymore, though the wedding ring still glints in the light of the ballroom from your ring finger. You hadn’t planned on sneaking away while Tobio was out of town; that is just how things are working out. He was supposed to be home three days ago. You had planned to sit him down and have this conversation in person, but he had accepted a chance to sub for another player in a charity tournament that would continue into next week.

You just don’t feel right without it, but you have taken to fiddling with it nervously when these guys corner you by the buffet table or are seated next to you at a table.

You are in just one such situation, some guy going on and on about sea turtles. Your mind is almost entirely numb, and you are having a difficult time coming up with an excuse to get away because of the stupor.

It is at this moment that an incredibly large shadow falls across your face, and you are pulled up gently by your hand. A kiss is placed on your cheek, and you hear a familiar voice saying, “Sorry I’m late sweetie, you wouldn’t believe the traffic.”

You turn your head to face the stranger and it is none other than Tobio. While you are grateful for the rescue, you wish it were coming from ANYONE else. Turning to the sea turtle guy, you thank him for the enlightening conversation and entertaining companionship while you waited for you, your teeth clench around the word husband but you manage to get it out. You then hasten away, gripping Tobio’s arm, you nail digging in through his suit jacket more than strictly necessary.

“How did you even get in here?” You hiss under your breath once the two of you are tucked away in a secluded alcove, even as your eyes drink in his tall, broad frame. He looks good, clean shaven and neat in the well-tailored suit you had bought for him to wear to things like this. You have never seen him in it before, as he has always been too busy to attend.

Your Tobio is still beneath that polished exterior though, and he pulls awkwardly at the cuffs as he refuses to meet your eyes as he mutters something about you never having removed your plus-one to all of these events.

You grimace at your lack of forethought, of course you should have done that, you should only be surprised that he hadn’t tried this sooner, but god does he smell good. Your body begins to relax of its own accord, like the smell that is practically rolling off of him is an aromatherapy room at a day spa.

Your shoulders are already dropping away from your ears, and your posture isn’t so ramrod straight anymore. Tobio sees all of this, its one of the many great things about him, and one of the things that make him such an amazing setter. He can tell by the slightest change of posture out of the corner of his eye what someone is going to do.

The frustration you feel at your body betraying you this way is almost a living thing, him showing up once doesn’t fix all of the very real problems that caused you to leave in the first place. One gesture doesn’t negate years of the relationship being neglected.

You bend your knees slightly so that you can look in his eyes, as you do so, you realize what the date is. “How are you even here right now Tobio?” You say softly, afraid to allow hope into your voice, afraid that he isn’t actually choosing fighting for you over volleyball, “Don’t you have a game?”

He finally stops trying to avoid your gaze, his piercing black eyes seeming to look into your soul and see the faint seed of hope there, see the small still surviving flame of your love for him.

“I took a leave of absence from the team.” He says, his voice still soft and even, “I want to try and be the kind of man you deserve, instead of the selfish person I have been.” He is still looking into your eyes with that laser-like focus of his, and now you are the one who is trying to avert your gaze.

“What if its too late for that Tobio?” you say softly and without much conviction. You are fighting those tears again, because how long have you waited to hear him say these words, to see with your own eyes that he is willing to put in the effort to not lose you, and you still love him damn it.

“I’m still going to try Princess.” He says voice still soft to avoid attracting attention to the emotionally fraught conversation the two of you are having in what is probably the worst location he could have chosen to ambush you in. “The only game you are guaranteed to lose is the one you never play, after all.”

That night you make a date, like an actual dinner date. You have told him your conditions for allowing him to try. This is going to be a restart. The rings and the marriage papers aren’t a factor.

The two of you are going to take the time to get to know each other again, and if the changes he was showing you at the fundraiser are real, and he is really willing to put in the effort, then maybe in a few months you will be willing to come back.

It is so easy for someone to change for a short time, and then go back to the way they previously were. Your other condition was that he needs to end his leave of absence from the team. Your logic behind this request is nearly identical to the above. How will you be able to tell if the changes are real, if he isn’t living his regular life?

You are fixing your makeup in the mirror of the vintage dressing table you had found for your bedroom, feeling nervous butterflies in your stomach. All Tobio would tell you about what you would be doing that evening was how you should dress, so you are in jeans and a nice blouse with a light sweater in case it gets chilly.

He is coming to pick you up, and you don’t know what to do with yourself while you wait for him to arrive. So you try to watch T.V., and then try to read a book, you are about to try and lose yourself in a few mind-numbing rounds of candy crush when you hear the knock on your door that you were waiting for.

Your heart has apparently migrated up into the vicinity of your throat, and you call out “be there in a minute” trying to sound as far away as your small apartment would allow so that you can take a few calming breaths and smooth down the front of your blouse.

When you finally go over to the door, you peer through the peep hole. Of course, it is Tobio standing nervously on the other side, who else would it be? You smile to yourself as you watch him shift from foot to foot nervously, clenching a slightly rumpled bouquet of wildflowers between his hands.

He is always so the same. That same nervous energy that you have always loved. That same drive to be perfect that leads him to expect perfection from others. One last cleansing breath, and you flip the deadbolt open.

When his eyes land on you, he hesitates in slack-jawed fascination for just a moment, the way you dress has changed just enough to be noticeable, but he recovers quickly and thrusts the bouquet toward you with the smallest bow-like inclination of his torso.

You hide a laugh behind your hand as you reach out with the other to take the cellophane covered bundle of flowers and invite him to come inside while you try to find a vase.

He toes off his shoes, trying to look around covertly, but he has never been one with a knack for subtlety. Once the vase you found in the seldom-used cabinet above the refrigerator is filled with water and flowers, you offer to show him around your, admittedly, small apartment.

He stares around him at the space you have created for yourself, fluffy blankets strewn artfully about ready to be snuggled up in at a moments notice, pretty simplistic pieces of art gracing the walls of each room, perfectly matching the color-palette you had chosen for the small space, the television mounted over the small fireplace.

He never would have expected you to choose a western style apartment, but here you are, comfortably settled in to just that. You push a strand of hair behind your ear and worry your lower lip between your teeth as he inspects what seems like every inch of the space.

“Its nice.” He says shortly, “Different, but nice.” He reaches out a hand to gently touch a curl of hair that rests on your shoulder, and your heart rate speeds up at his proximity. The apartment suddenly feels too small, but he takes his hand back after only a few moments saying only, “This too.”

With that moment of awkward tension to spur you on, you both put your shoes on, you lock up the apartment, and head down to his car.

The car ride is even more awkward, just him randomly interjecting some random statement too loudly into the silence, trying to start the conversation in the most endearing display of nervous energy you have seen from him in years.

It is one of such attempts that leads him to blurt out “So who knew that Powerbars and Gatorade don’t just magically appear in the kitchen right?” You are so entirely caught off guard by this self-deprecating statement that you snort out a very sudden and unattractive laugh, causing him to grin like he just won the lottery.

“You know,” he says softly as you blush furiously in the seat beside him, “I never really thanked you for doing all of that stuff.” His eyes are on the road, hand on the gear shift as though he needs to shift gears in an automatic vehicle. “I think because I was gone so often, I just didn’t realize how much stuff there is to do to run a home, and you always made it look so easy.”

He is right, he has never thanked you for all of the things you did around the home before. Its true that in the past year or so, the two of you had been doing well enough for you to pay someone to help out with the cleaning, but in the seven years the two of you were together, he had never once, that you can recall, been vocally grateful.

“Thank you.” You mumble into the cuffs of your sweater, having raised your hands to press at your cheeks. Praise from him shouldn’t make you blush like this, but it has been so rare to hear these kinds of things, and honestly, that was part of the problem. Not only was he never around, but when he was everything was a perfunctory request.

The two of you start to chat about this and that, there is a lot to catch up on from the last few months after all. You tell him about getting to know and hanging out with the girls from work, about the things you’ve been reading, about meeting Tanka and Noya when you went dancing, and he swears to murder the two of them.

When you reach the restaurant, things continue to flow easily between you two. You smile fondly when he orders milk with his meal. He has had a glass of milk with his dinner, no mater what he is eating, for as long as you have known him, and according to Hinata, for a lot longer than that.

Even with all of the changes you are seeing in him, there is still so much of the Tobio you fell in love with there.

He talks about volleyball practice, but it isn’t all he talks about, and it is very enjoyable. The two of you go walk around the area the restaurant is in after dinner, and it is nice, nostalgic, and when he takes you home and walks you up to your apartment, he gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek.

It has been a month and the two of you have been on at least one outing a week. It has been nice, but you are still cautious of the change you are seeing in him. He texts at night, in the morning, and on lunch/breaks at practice. He calls before bed to tell you goodnight. He actually shows up for dates.

You still have not taken him to another event. You don’t want people to get used to seeing him at your side, just in case this doesn’t work out. Having to explain to the people who regularly attend the damn things why he hasn’t been around, just does not sound appealing to you.

You have both been keeping physical contact to a minimum, him out of respect, you out of fear. The last date you had been on, you had gone to Shinobazu pond, and the nearby zoo. It had been lovely, and by the time you had left the park you had been comfortably and happily holding hands.

The fuzzy feeling in your stomach from just that small innocent amount of touch lasted well into the following week.

Tonight though, he had told you to dress up nice, yet again, he had refused to tell you where you were going, but honestly you are up for anything so long as you are getting the time with him that you have been craving for so long. No matter how much time you get to spend together, it never seems like enough for you.

He seems to feel the same way. He has skipped the last couple of hours of extra practice to spend time with you twice now, and it makes you feel so special to know that he is putting your relationship first.

You are thinking about how happy these last few weeks have made you, but you aren’t ready yet to truly hope that this is going to work, while you are putting the finishing touches on the chic chignon you have done your hair up in.

He is supposed to be there to pick you up at six, and you notice that it is 5:30 as you slip on the cocktail dress you have chosen for tonight on, and move to finish your makeup with a dash of mascara and some lip gloss.

It is six on the dot when you make your way to the living room to wait, and its fine, he doesn’t have to be exactly on time.

At 6:30 you go to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, you still aren’t too worried, traffic might be bad, and he HATES to text and drive.

By 7:00 you are starting to get angry, the least he could do is text you and tell you he is going to be late.

At 7:30 you give up and change into comfy pajama pants and an overlarge t-shirt. You pull the pins from your hair, and instead throw it into a messy bun on the top of your head. You turn on the T.V. and flip through the channels, and there he is.

There is a press conference being held by his team, they are talking about an upcoming game and some scandal with one of his fellow players. There are questions about how he and his teammates think that this scandal will affect the outcome of the game.

There are tears in your eyes again. You aren’t mad that he had to do a press conference, these kinds of things pop up after all. What has you angry and sad is that he could have easily called you or texted you to let you know what was happening.

Tobio is answering a particularly ridiculous question when the knock on your door sounds, and you consider not answering it. While you are considering and sipping from the glass of wine you decided you deserved for being stood up by your estranged husband, another knock rings out through the apartment.

You fling the door open, your face awash with the annoyance you are currently feeling, and then you really see him. The “what do you want” you had been ready to throw at him dies on your lips as you take in his rumpled appearance. He is sweating profusely, his white button up shirt clinging to his well-muscled torso, his tie is thrown haphazardly over his shoulder like it had been getting in his way. His already pin straight hair is plastered to his forehead, and your expression softens of its own accord.

You step back, pulling the door with you and gesturing for him to enter. Once he has come inside, you go to grab him a glass of water while he takes off his shoes and catches his breath, and then curl back up in the chair you had been in, picking up your wine and taking a sip, giving him a long look over the rim of the glass.

Tobio has taken a seat on the couch to the side of you, his head is resting on the palms of his hands, elbows on his knees, and he looks up at you with an absolutely broken expression on his face. “I am so sorry.” He says softly, and your heart breaks at the slight crack in his voice on the o in so.

“I wasn’t told until 5:30 that we had a press conference today, and they wouldn’t let us have outside contacts beforehand in case something somehow got leaked.” He sighs as he sits up fully, his eyes boring into yours, begging you to understand.

You heave a sigh out as all of your frustration is swept away in just a few words of explanation from him. It makes perfect sense, and you hate that, but at the same time, you are so relieved that he didn’t just forget about your date.

Setting down your glass, you move in front of him onto your knees. “It’s okay.” You place a hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone, and dipping your head so that you can look into his eyes that he has lowered back to the floor. “Stuff comes up, and we can’t always control whether or not we can contact each other.”

You sit back on your heels, looking up at him, “Plus, I forgave you the moment you showed up, looking like you ran all the way here.” You grin at him smugly, “What girl isn’t going to feel special after that?”

He reaches a hand forward and rubs a thumb under your eye, trying to smooth away some of the mascara that has run down, and looking thoughtful. “I already made you cry again.” He shakes his head sadly.

Grabbing his hand between both of yours you say softly, “It couldn’t be helped. Don’t beat yourself up too much.”

The two of you decide that since you have already changed, and he is a mess, you will just stay in, order takeout and watch a movie. It is the first time in years that the two have snuggled up on the couch for an evening in, and while it was a rough start, it is perfect.

The second month has not been perfect, and while you would never expect perfection of anything, Tobio has never quite been able to shake expecting it of himself. You are so happy with the way things have been going.

Sure, you are only a couple of months into trying again, but the effort he has been making, and you have been making honestly, has been a complete 180 from the way things used to be. There have been fun nights out for the two of you, and relaxing nights of pizza and movies at home.

The snuggles have been A-1 as well. You still haven’t kissed him though. You are so nervous that escalating things physically will put some sort of rush on the whole experiment, take away the shine that is currently surrounding you two.

Tonight, he wants to cook for you though, and you have literally never seen him cook even instant ramen for himself. You have no idea, even after all of this time, if the man is capable of cooking a meal, and you are quite frankly terrified for your digestive health.

After preemptively taking two Pepto tablets, you lock up your apartment, and head to your old home.

When you walk up to the front door, you sniff the air tentatively, sure that if he had set the place on fire, you would be able to smell it. Everything seems normal though, and you feel yourself relax a bit. The next hurdle though is that you aren’t sure if you are allowed to just walk in, since you don’t live there anymore, or if you need to knock.

“What the hell is the proper decorum for this situation Miss Manners?” you think snidely to yourself as you stand clutching at the strap of the purse slung across your body, and praying that one of the neighbors doesn’t recognize you standing indecisively outside the door.

You are raising your hand to just go ahead and knock, when the door swings open to reveal Tobio looking at you like you have lost your mind. “I was watching on the security camera and figured I should come put you out of your misery.”

He is smiling fondly at you, and you are blushing scarlet all the way to the tips of your ears. You walk through the door, and remove your shoes, looking around you for any changes that he may have made in your absence.

You don’t know what you were expecting, a pool table in the middle of the living room, dozens of sports posters covering the walls, a stripper pole going from the ceiling to the floor next to the bar the two of you had picked out for the space?

He has changed absolutely nothing though. You can even still see the empty spaces left by the things you took with you. You cut your eyes toward him as he watches you take it all in. “You haven’t changed this place even a little bit?” You rasp out around a lump that has formed in your throat.

He shakes his head trying to hold your gaze, but not offering any sort of explanation. He motions for you to follow him to the kitchen that you are very familiar with, and hands you a glass of white wine that you assume he poured for you while watching your mortifying deliberation on the front porch.

You take a sip and are surprised that he remembered your wine preference. You know it isn’t just left over from before because it tastes fresh, and also because you took all of the open bottles with you when you moved.

You sniff the air again and are shocked at the blend of spices the invades your senses. Dinner smells amazing, even if you can’t see what it is yet. Your stomach growls loudly as you sneak up behind him to try and catch a peek at what he is making.

He smacks you lightly on the hand with a sauce covered spoon, leaving a warm splotch for you to lick off, giving a hum of appreciation. “Delicious.”

He grins at you in triumph as he continues to stir and season the things bubbling away in the pots in front of him.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” You say bluntly, raising one eyebrow even while your words are softened by the smile playing at your lips. “I don’t think you cooked once in the past few years.”

He stops stirring momentarily as he thinks over the time the two have been together. “I haven’t cooked since college.” He says simply before going back to stirring with a shrug of his shoulders.

A few minutes later, he snaps off the gas to the stove, and begins plating the meal, stopping only to top off your glass, and then carries the plates over, setting them on either side of the corner of the island you have been seated at this whole time.

He pulls a stool over, and your knees brush as you take the first bite of the amazing meal. With the closeness of your bodies, the warmth already in your chest and cheeks from that first glass of wine, and the way you lean toward one another as you talk, the scene is intimate. More intimate than you normally are with one another.

When you finish eating, you wash dishes together, hips and arms brushing with each small movement, and it surprises you how attuned you are to these slight touches at this point.

Especially being back in this kitchen, it feels like maybe you imagined the things that made you leave, like it was all just a really shitty nightmare that you have finally woken up from.

It is when the two of you are snuggled up on the couch watching a movie, and your eyes are glued to the silhouette in the darkness instead of the screen that he turns his face toward yours, brings his hand to your cheek, thumb running up and down your jaw as he leans forward.

Your eyes are closing, and he is so close that his breath is tickling across your lips. Your heart is beating what feels like a thousand miles an hour, and then his lips are on yours and it is like a damn is breaking in your chest.

You open your mouth to him, and he groans as he swipes his tongue tentatively against yours. Your hands are running up his back and burying themselves in his hair. You are both pouring all of your longing, hop, and pent up loneliness into the kiss.

There is so much passion in this one kiss that your head is spinning, and you can’t seem to steady yourself mentally. He is leaning you back into the cushions of the couch, and his hands are running up your sides, making their way unerringly for your chest.

When one of his fingers brushes the side of your breast, your brain snaps into clarity and full on panic. You are pushing him away from you, making hurried excuses to leave. Grabbing your purse and entirely forgetting your shoes in your hurry to get as far away as you possibly can.

This is exactly what you had been afraid of.

It has been a week since you fled from his home. After you refused to answer his barrage of concerned and apologetic texts, your shoes had shown up outside your door with a note, and a single stem of daisies.

This had of course only made you feel worse about your massive overreaction. The two of you had not had any conversations about expectations for if… when, things became physical again. When things had started between you in college, you were both so inexperienced. There was a certain nervousness in you both at the idea of taking each step with one another.

Each phase of your physical relationship had been distinct. Holding hands for weeks, the brief time in which it still felt like him putting his arm around you was blush inducingly intimate, that month of chaste pecks to the cheeks and lips. It was only when things went from sweet open-mouthed kisses to full on make-out sessions in your dorm rooms that things sped up.

There were just a couple of times of sitting up, looking at each other with heated passionate eyes as you both agreed that you should cool things down, maybe take a walk, and then things were going too fast and feeling to good for the two of you to hit the brakes.

Now though, your bodies might be out of practice with the act, but they still are familiar territory. There is so much history that there are not really any nerves to get past, of course the two of you got carried away.

With the time that has passed though, you aren’t really sure how to go about contacting him to apologize for your behavior. What even is a proper apology for freaking out when the man who is technically still your husband tries to touch your boob and not talking to him for a week?

So, you just don’t apologize. You also don’t see him in person. You are back to perfunctory good morning texts, and small updates on your day. There is an awkward energy to your phone calls in the evenings, and you feel awful about the fact that you are the one who has put this wall up between the two of you when things were going so well.

He continues to ask you to go places with him. An invitation to dinner here, a quick mention of possibly going to play mini-golf or go to an arcade like you are kids again there. However, you are always quick to come up with an excuse to not be near him physically, mostly work.

And you are working hard, using your job and the runup to the biggest event of the season for your organization to keep your mind off of the fact that it hurts more to be pulling away from him now than it had when you packed up and left.

It is definitely working, there isn’t even time for you to feel lonely when you get home and flop fully clothed onto your bed and crash out in absolute exhaustion.

It is the week before the event when you wake up feeling like hammered dog shit. Your head is pounding, and every time you try to get up to go and get a glass of water of try and force some food past your nausea, your head spins.

When you call your employees to let them know that they are on their own for a day or two because you are far too sick to come in, you can hear the concern, especially in your assistant’s voice. You can’t really bring yourself to try and disabuse them of their concerns because you are currently trying not to hurl your guts up while on the phone with your subordinates.

After a quick session of emptying what feels like everything you have eaten over the past five months from your stomach, and then another when you try to brush your teeth, you are huddled, shivering miserably in your bed.

It is telling of how bad you feel that you don’t even think to panic a bit when you hear your front door open. You hear the sounds of bags being set down on the counter, and the fridge opening and closing, and you try so hard to bring yourself to care enough to leave the comfort and warmth of your bed to see who the hell is interrupting your misery.

You decide that if whoever it is, is here to rob and murder you, it doesn’t really matter if you are napping when they decide to get around to it.

Time passes, and you fade in and out of consciousness. You open your eyes and there is a warm damp rag on your forehead. Your eyes close and the rag has been replaced, and there is a mug of tea and a couple of pills on your nightstand. Thanking your benevolent intruder, you take the pills and let the world fade behind the cover of your eyelids again.

The next time you wake, you are soaked in sweat. You have kicked your blankets off of you, due to the fever you hadn’t even known you had breaking.

You shamble your way into the restroom, a thin blanket wrapped around your shoulders to protect your sweat slicked skin from the air conditioning. You wash your face and try to brush the dry sour taste from sleeping with your mouth open because of your stuffy nose from your mouth.

It is while you are doing this, that you remember the intruder, and you decide that since you eventually have to check out the damage, there is no better time than now. At least now you can just go to sleep and forget about it, no matter how bad it ends up being.

When you walk out the bathroom door into the living room, and peer out at the space through eyes that are just barely cracked open, as though the less space to see through the better the carnage you are expecting will appear, you instead see a neat clean room, and Tobio in the kitchen holding a bowl in one hand and a towel in the other as though he has stopped in shock at the sight of you standing in your own apartment.

After a few moments of the two of you just looking at one another as though someone has pushed pause on your lives, everything starts once more at double speed. Your head spins as you watch him place the dish on the counter, rush over to you, and guide you to lay down on the couch.

He pulls your blanket from around your shoulders, covers you back up with it, and then practically materializes back beside you with a bowl of soup. You peek at the clock on the microwave in the kitchen and see that it is nearly 4 in the afternoon.

“When did you get here?” You rasp out between blown breaths on the hot soup, taking a bite as you wait, the warm broth soothing your sore throat. Your eyes are on your bowl as you say softly, “and how exactly did you get in.”

Your still slightly feverish brain leaps to the assumption that in the time you two have spent apart he has learned how to pick locks from Tanaka and Noya, or that he has become a burglar after losing his spot on the team because of all of the time he has been taking off.

Your sickness fueled fears are quickly allayed as he tells you that your assistant had called him in an absolute panic when he was on his way to practice saying that you were sick. He says that he had been concerned about knocking on your door and waking you up, but your assistant had agreed to meet him at a store between your workplace and your apartment to give him a key that you had left with her for emergencies.

He had bought the stuff to make soup, medicine, tissues, and ice cream, and hurried over here while calling his coach and letting him know he wouldn’t be in to practice for a day or two.

That explained the pills on the nightstand, the soup, and his presence, but you were still confused. “Why though.” You deadpan after another bite of delicious soup. He looks at you like you have lost your mind, and then places a hand to your forehead, just making sure that your fever hasn’t suddenly returned.

“Because I love you idiot.” He says simply, before getting up. He grabs your empty bowl, and gestures with it. “Want more?”

You shake your head, and try to come up with something to say to that, but all you can think is that he should be upset at you after how you acted the last time you saw each other in person. He pulls the throw pillows from behind you on the couch, and taps your shoulder, indicating for you to lean forward and situating himself behind you.

Turning on the television, he switches on a random movie, and begins to rub the fingers of one hand into your scalp as the two of you half watch. You are snuggled into his chest, and dozing in and out as he massages your scalp, and after the first movie, he heats up another small bowl of soup for you, but you can’t seem to find your appetite.

Your body is feeling chilled again, and you are turned on your side now, over-warm cheek pressed into his shoulder, shoulder slotted into the space between his arm and his side, the rest of you curled into a ball between his legs.

It is when you start shivering that he works his way out from behind you, picks you up, and carries you back to your bed. He covers you in your thick warm comforter and turns to go finish cleaning up and go home.

Those plans come to a screeching halt, when your hand snatches his wrist, and you look up at him through fever glazed eyes, looking absolutely miserable and ask him to please stay. He barely even puts up a fight because of how small and sick you look, not that it would be hard to snatch his arm back and just leave with you in this weakened state.

He does extricate himself gently from your grip, but all he does is go make sure the front door is locked, and then come to lay down beside you on top of the blankets that are covering you. You immediately roll so that you are laying on your side with your head on his shoulder once more. Your hand grips at the front of his shirt, and he gently moves a piece of hair that is stuck to your sweaty forehead.

He kisses your forehead gently, and just tries to enjoy getting to have you in his arms for the night again.

When you had woken up the next morning, finally feeling better, you had only known that everything from the night before wasn’t a fever dream because of the warm shape sprawled across the bed next to/partially on top of you.

Even with the fairly uncomfortable position you are in, you attempt to snuggle as best you can with his starfished form. You have missed waking up beside him. Yet another thing that has been gone from your relationship for far too long.

Its been about a month since that day and the two of you have not had another overnight stay, but you have talked about your post kiss freak-out. Things have gone back to that good place from before that, but now there are frequent chaste kisses, and casual touches between the two of you.

You are nearly four months into this whole trying to date each other thing, and those touches are becoming more tempting, more tantalizing, no matter how innocent they may be. He is being careful not to scare you again, but you are starting to want more.

You also just want to go home. The apartment has been nice, and you feel like having your own space for the first time in your adult life has really helped you grow as a person, but when you are leaving the fancy fundraisers he is now consistently accompanying you to, you just want to go home with him instead of to your empty apartment.

You have been renting month to month all this time, with no long-term lease, and the time is coming that you are going to need to either go back and resume your marriage for real, or go out and buy a home of your own.

You are very much leaning toward resuming your life. Tonight, at the awards dinner for Japan’s national sports teams doesn’t seem like the best time to bring it up, but after sounds good. Definitely after.

You are dressed in a long black gown that hugs and accentuates the shape of your hips. When he knocks, and you open the door, he looks amazing. His hair is slicked back away from his face, and he is wearing a new suit. The cut of the pants accentuates the long line of his legs, and the curve of his well-toned ass has you practically drooling.

You don’t even notice the way his broad shoulders fill out the jacket until you see the strain across the back of the jacket when he reaches for the car door to open it for you. It is going to be a long night.

The dinner is nice and seeing Tobio interact with his teammates when they are off the court is… educational to say the least. You get to see how he has grown in his interactions. Even in college, he was still so awkward at trying to keep up with people and the way he was supposed to fit with them, but he is so at ease with these men now.

Unsurprisingly, he definitely still has those perfectionist tendencies though. When some of his teammates who were nominated for awards but just missed out on getting them are down about it, instead of consoling them, he tells them how they can improve their play to get it next time. What is surprising about this is that almost all of the guys he does this to seem to perk up immediately.

Maybe perfectionism, and always striving to be just a little bit better is just a professional athlete thing.

It is the end of the evening when Tobio straightens his tie, kisses you on the cheek, and makes his way up to the stage. He looks so calm standing at the podium, but you are at a loss for why he would be up there in the first place. You look to the guys he plays with, confusion written on your face as you ask them what this is all about, but they just smile and tell you to turn around and find out for yourself.

Tobio pulls a stack of note cards from the inside pocket of his jacket and begins to speak his eyes trained on yours through the bright lights that are shining on him.

“I have played for the Japanese volleyball team for seven amazing years.” He starts, his voice ringing clearly through the microphone, “In this time I have learned not only how to be a better setter, but a better person from the team that has taken me so far.”

The team around you Cheers and hoots at this, and he waits for them to settle down before continuing.

“It is therefore, with a heavy heart,” He is looking at you again his eyes boring into yours, your breathing nearly stopping as you realize what he is about to say, and you can’t decide if you want to cry or stop him, or run into his arms and kiss him senseless. “That I am announcing my retirement from Volleyball.”

People all around the room gasp, except for the men surrounding you at the table. Tobio continues. He speaks on the amazing coaches, his teammates once more, and the reasons for his choice to retire. He says that his age is a factor, and wanting more time with his family, as well as the fact that he is taking a position as a volleyball coach at Fukurodani Academy alongside a former rival of his.

After his speech, the two of you finish out the rest of the ceremony, nibbling on dessert and playing footsie under the table. You mingle for about half an hour, not wanting to be rude, and then you make your way out to his car, his hand pressing into your low back as he gently guides you.

You notice a small park that you had missed on your way in as the two of you walk to the lot where his car is located, and you tug on his arm to get him to detour and take a walk with you. He allows you to pull him in to the dark, quiet park, and the two of you begin a circuit of the paved path through and around it.

“You didn’t have to retire.” You say softly, though inside you are ecstatic that he is taking a job that will not have him traveling quite so much.

It is his turn to pull you to a stop and turn you to face him. Even in your heels, you have to tilt your head up to look at him.

“Volleyball should never have been the most important thing in my life.” He says softly, that wandering hand of his making its way up to stroke your cheek like it has so many times before. “I’m not going to give it a chance to be that way again.”

Your eyes are glossy with tears as you stand even farther on your tiptoes and pull gently on his tie to bring his lips to yours. After too few moments, you pull away just slightly, using his tie to hold him close to you so you can look in his eyes. “I want to come home, Tobio.”

After your proclamation, he had grabbed your hand and pulled you quickly from the park and to the car, saying only a perfunctory ‘OK’

Now you are rounding the last corner to the street your home is on. His hand is on your thigh, and you can feel the warmth of it through the thin, smooth material. He is kneading at the taut muscles in your leg, and you are already getting worked up, but not so badly you can’t hide it.

It has always been this way, with just a few touches, he has always been able to make you melt. He is a genius of the physical after all.

He pulls the car into the garage, and by the time you walk around the front of it, his lips are on yours. It is a heated kiss all passion and the nip of teeth, and you can barely catch your breath.

You are pressed against the door, fumbling behind yourself for the knob. You are tripping backwards over the threshold, and he is trying to pick you up, but you can’t wrap your legs around his waist because of the tight skirt of your dress.

Instead of just walking you backwards and trip hazards be damned, he kneels in front of you, places those strong hands on either side of the slit of the side and pulls. The sound of ripping fabric going straight to you your crotch. God the things he could do to you with just one motion.

When that fabric tears and you have a full range of motion again, he picks you up by your ass, and you wrap your legs around his waist. The pressure of his hand spanning your low back, the long fingers pressing you to him.

His long strides are rocking his hips against yours, and your core is grinding against him in a way that has you groaning into the heated, tongue-filled kisses that you can’t seem to pull yourself away from.

When he somehow kicks the partially closed bedroom door open, and tosses you gently onto the bed, you lose your breath again. He is shucking off his jacket and loosening his tie, looking at you like you are a meal to be devoured, and lord does Tobio have an appetite.

You are struggling with the zipper at the back of your dress, and he pauses halfway through the unbuttoning of his shirt. He has always been single minded and at that moment, his mind had been on the task of getting out of his clothing as quickly as humanly possible.

Now though, that laser focus is instead on getting you out of the tattered fabric of your gown. He pulls you gently back up from the bed, hands running over your bare arms, before tuning you so that your back is to him, the offending zipper partially down already. His fingers skim over your skin as he pulls the small tab down slowly, swiftly followed by his lips, kissing down every few inches from the nape of your neck to the small of your back.

He helps to push the thin straps of your dress down your arms, and soon what is left of your dress is sitting in a satin pool at your feet. One of his hands wraps around your torso to splay across your stomach as the other begins to pull pins from your hair, allowing it cascade down one of you shoulders while pressing hot open mouthed kisses to the other and up your neck.

Your breaths are coming fast already as he presses your back against his front, the open buttons on his shirt allowing you to feel the juxtaposition of his smooth warm skin versus the soft material. His hand is snaking its way over the skin of your abdomen to grasp your breast, and though he is still being achingly gentle with you, you can feel the power in those long fingers.

When he rolls your nipple between his fingers, tugging gently, your head falls back onto his shoulder, and you thrust your ass back into him with a low moan, back arching. His tongue is tracing the shell of your ear, and you just want to feel his skin on yours.

His hold on you is loose enough that you are able to turn and face him. You fit your mouths together in another searing kiss as your fingers nimbly finish unbuttoning his half-open shirt. Pulling the garment down his arms as your tongues tangle together.

It’s the feral growl that he gives after you have finished unbuckling his belt and pulled it free of the loops holding it in place that finally has you prying your mouths apart, panting for breath, chest and cheeks painted red from the blood and desire that are pounding through your veins.

Then he is taking short stalking steps toward you as he undoes the button and zipper keeping his pants closed, backing you back onto the bed clad solely in the small lacy thong you had chosen to avoid lines in your dress, and totally not because you had been anticipating this.

When he stops between your legs, and bends to remove his pants, he doesn’t immediately stand again, opting to instead gently place your ankle on his shoulder so that he can place soft kisses to it starting at the ankle, stopping briefly to nibble at the back of your knee, which he knows from experience always turns you into a dripping, pliant mess.

His kisses grow sloppier as he makes his way higher up to your thigh, and you feel yourself clench in anticipation. When he is nearing the juncture of your thighs, he bites down softly on the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. He runs his tongue over the slightly reddened skin in that spot trying to soothe a bit of the pain and working you up even more.

He moves down to stand on his knees at the edge of the bed, your leg lowering along with the shoulder it still rests on, and eyes still on yours, dives in to taste you through your panties. Your thighs clamp tight around his ears in pleasure at the feeling of his hot breath and tongue on you even through the material, but you want more.

You wriggle your hips, hands gripping the sides of the thong, and his hands knock yours out of the way so that he can quickly and efficiently yank it down your legs, and get immediately to the more pressing task of devouring you.

His tongue is circling around your clit, not yet stimulating it directly, he wants you writhing beneath his attentions first. He turns his attention from teasing around the neglected bundle of nerves to tease your opening, circling just like before instead of allowing the slick muscle to enter you.

His eyes still haven’t left yours and the intensity in them has your legs shaking on his shoulders. You are straining your hips toward him in an attempt to get direct stimulation in any one place, the frustrated little noises you are making causing him to smirk slightly before finally closing his lips around your clit and sucking gently.

Then your hips are bucking slightly upwards in pleasure, and he is switching his attentions from your clit to thrusting his tongue into your wet heat., allowing you to get lost in the pleasure of it, but not to cum. Your frustration at him denying you is mounting when he thrusts the first of his long fingers into you, curls it toward himself in that come-hither motion and sucks on your sensitive nub at the same time, and you are seeing stars, cumming around that one digit with loud moans falling from your lips.

He kisses his way back up your body as you recover from that first round and kisses your neck. When he brings his mouth back to yours and you taste yourself on your tongue, the only reason it does anything for you is because you know that he is thinking about you tasting the orgasm he had finessed out of you. He has always loved winning, and this is proof to him that the score is currently 1-0 in his favor.

He is grinding his hips down into yours and groaning into your mouth. That laser focus now on working you back up so that he can slide himself into you and make you cum again. When you are writhing beneath him again, he reaches between you and slips two fingers inside of you, thrusting them into you at a much less leisurely pace.

He is impatient and ready, but he wants you to be worked up close enough that it won’t be an issue that there is no way he is going to last long after so much time not being with you. You are sensitive enough from that first time that it doesn’t take long to get you there. When he slips a third finger into you, you are already close to cumming again, and breathy pleas are spilling out, begging for him to please just get his cock inside of you already.

He grants your request, removing his hand from within you, standing to turn to the nightstand, he grabs a condom from the drawer, rolls it on, and readies himself between your legs, one hand gripping his length to guide himself into you while he leans forward to claim your lips once more.

Then, with one swift thrust, he is filling you. Your mouths are removed from one another and you are both bowing your heads into the others shoulders as he fills you and retreats over and over. His breathing is ragged and yours is coming out is broken near sobs from the pleasure of him fucking into you.

You are clawing at his back with your nails, and neither of you care that his back is going to be a mess of red welted marks. He wraps an arm under your knee, pulling it up so that he is fucking deeper into you, and your brain is completely empty of everything but him and the way that he seems to fill you so perfectly.

His name is dripping from your lips, as yours is from his. Then you are both cresting the wave of your pleasure and falling into orgasm. Your walls are clenching around him, pulling him deeper and releasing as he spills inside the condom, and you are almost disappointed that it isn’t you he is filling.

Both of your skin is sheened with sweat from the exertion as he pulls out of you, removes and ties the condom before tossing it into the wastebasket by the bathroom door. You hear water running from the shower in the bathroom and try to will yourself to stand and go join him as the water warms.

There is no need for that though, as he returns to scoop you off of the bed. He sets you on your feet in the shower, holding you steady until you get your bearings on the slick tile floor. Then he helps you clean yourself with a body was that smells like he does when he is fresh from the shower. You opt not to torture your hair with the 2-in-1 shampoo he prefers.

Once you are both clean again, he helps you dry off with the large fluffy bath sheets you had picked out, and finds you a large t-shirt and a pair of boxers to wear while you sleep.

When the two of you snuggle up, you fall asleep faster than you have, without working yourself to exhaustion, in years.

Over the last two weeks of your lease, you are mostly packing, but you spend as many nights as you can with Tobio in your home, relearning each other’s bodies, and counting the days until you can officially come back for good.

It takes a few weeks more for you to get back into the swing of things, especially with him being home in the evenings when you get off of work so much more often. Of course, there are nights that he has to work late, when they are practicing for a match or when he has out of town games or training camps with the team. Its not such a big deal for you to take some time off and go with him now that it isn’t every few days now though, so even that is no big deal.

When he is asked to play in charity tournaments with other players that have retired, you are there proudly donning your “Kageyama’s Queen of the Court” shirt and yelling for him along with the rest of the crowd.

Sometimes in a relationship, the fire goes out and it can’t be re-started because all that is left are burned out ashes, but the two of you are part of the lucky few who are able to keep it smoldering through everything, and fan those embers and coals until it is raging once more.


End file.
